


Reliable Sources

by ZeelosRN



Category: Simon Feximal Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Found Family, educational porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeelosRN/pseuds/ZeelosRN
Summary: Sam borrows his uncle's copy of Jonathan and has some questions.





	Reliable Sources

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ZeelosRN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeelosRN/pseuds/ZeelosRN) in the [JonathanDrabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/JonathanDrabbles) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Blank prompt for fandoms not covered. Magpies? Zenda? Crossover silliness?

"Mr. Caldwell! A moment of your time."

We were between cases, so I was occupied in my other paid occupation. I had, in fact, spread notes and pages from several drafts in somewhat-organized piles across the floor of one of the disused rooms, because my editor wanted to publish a collection of some of the most popular tales, but, of course, wanted them rearranged to produce some sort of narrative. I wasn't certain that was possible. So when Miss Kay threw open the door, she dislodged several sheets. I stood up, trying not to wince as I straightened my back for the first time in an hour. She took no notice regardless, just as, despite a relationship with her brother that must have been obvious, she still had not felt moved to offer to let me use her given name. It was never safe to assume that Miss Kay did not know a secret, and of course between the walls of the house on Fetter Lane my relationship with Simon hardly merited the word, but it was equally impossible to tell which, if any, information distressed her. I believe the habit of living with the pain in her left hand had both made her more irritable and more adept at ignoring discomfort. I was beginning to develop the same facility for similar reasons.

She bore Sam in her wake. He was flushed bright scarlet, half laughing and half afraid--a frequent state, when he disrupted his sibling's lessons or otherwise irritated their teacher. "Aunt Theo," he said. "Really. I can talk to him. I'm sorry I bothered you. You don't need-"

Miss Kay thrust a book into my face, immediately under my nose where it was mostly visible as a red blur. When I had it in my own hands, and felt the familiar leather under my fingertips, I felt a bit of a flush creep into my own cheeks. This particular book and my talent for casting sortes had found agreeable combination in situations where the presence of either Miss Kay or Sam would be decidedly unwelcome. I cleared my throat. "How can I be of assistance?" I asked.

"Our young ward," Miss Kay began, turning that unsettlingly still gaze on Sam, "has questions about the contents of that book."

Sam and I looked at each other in entirely mutual mortification. He was fifteen, according to Miss Kay's calculations of the date of his birth, beginning to acquire some height, his broken voice forcing him to revise his previous style of wide-eyed innocent mischief, not yet needing to shave, full of spots and elbows, and presumably attempting to understand what was between his legs. At his age I would have considered a copy of Jonathan as a miraculous gift, full of excellent suggestions and inadvertently practical advice. "I shall endeavor to answer them," I said. Miss Kay sniffed, pushed Sam into the room, and closed the door on her way out.

He sagged against the wall, trying, to his credit, not to step on my notes. Our eyes met again, and he covered his face with his hands. Several times he drew breath and peeked out at me, only to think better of whatever he was going to say and squeeze his eyes shut again.

"Is there a reason," I said finally, "that you asked your aunt first, instead of me? If you were going to ask anyone at all?" I was frantically thinking back to things Sam had said, in jest, in anger, or in affection, over the years he'd lived with me, that might hint at discomfort with my relationship with Simon or at distrust of my regard for him. I loved him like a son, and although he'd already had a boy's prickly pride when he moved in, there had been a few times when he'd thrown himself into my arms in distress and called me Uncle Robert while hiding tears, and we traded warm handshakes and claps on the shoulder in the ordinary course of greetings and thanks. He had never recoiled from me. Indeed, although he was very close with his sibling and with Cornelia, I had rather fancied myself his confidant. "Surely Cornelia, even-" I stopped. "Or did you have an arcane question for Miss Kay, about the book?" Copies were extremely rare and hard to come by; the one Simon and I shared had been given to us haunted, but that was a different story entirely.

Sam's answer was initially muffled by his hands, but, realizing on his own that he'd have to speak clearly or embarrass himself further, he cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. He addressed the floor. "Cornelia don't write good enough. She'd of had to show me, and ew, no, she's family." He made a face, took a breath. He was developing the talent of consciously adapting the register of his speech to his interlocutor, but perhaps he still felt most comfortable in the rough patterns of his early childhood, or meant to separate himself from me. "And Uncle, I don't think you know the answers."

"I have read the book, you know."

He flinched. "Yeah, but you and Uncle Simon- look, I'm trying hard not to think about it, you're my uncles- but you just- with each other, right?"

"Yes?"

Someone tapped on the door. "Robert?" Simon called. "Are you all right?"

Sam squeaked.

"I'm parenting!" I called back. "Everything's fine!"

Sam breathed again as we heard the footsteps retreat. For a moment we were silent, unable to take up the thread of conversation. Then our eyes met, and we both clapped hands over our mouths to try not to let Simon hear us laughing.

"Right, so I see why you didn't ask him," I said.

"Yeah, but you're a, a, man's man too, right?"

I wondered what other words his street friends had taught him, and was grateful he chose not to use them. "Well, yes, obviously," I said.

"So, if I wanted to know if these things worked with women-"

"Oh."

"You see? I thought maybe if I phrased it all anatomical, she might answer, because she'll talk about the oddest things like they weren't nothing, but no."

"I have no idea whether she knows the answers herself. I'd never ask." It occurred to me that Miss Kay's discomfort might come from personal aversion, or even the unaccustomed feeling of ignorance. I had never known her to take a lover of any sex, although, of course, if she chose to conceal such a liaison from me I should not have pried. "You don't have anyone else to talk to?"

"My friends talk all the time about what they've gotten girls to do, but mostly it's lies, and this book seems-" he searched for a word- "more realistic-"

I snorted.

"-more physically possible. But I can't tell them I've been reading a book where it's all arses and cocks everywhere, and I don't think you've done much comparing arses to cunnies, have you?"

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"Let me write a letter to an old friend, and order some books for you, all right?"

"Oh!" His face lit up. "Sort of an odd thing to ask an uncle for, but thanks."

"If it keeps you from bothering Miss Kay again, and you practice your reading, we'll call it reasonable. Also," I tucked Jonathan into a pocket, "if you need anything for these purposes, I would be much more comfortable buying you your own, than having you use Simon's and mine."

The look on his face assured me my precious volume would be forever safe from filching.


End file.
